


Othello

by Leahelisabeth (fortheloveofcamelot)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angelic Possession, Angst, Broken Bones, Buried Alive, Burns, Demonic Possession, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-09 23:33:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3268439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortheloveofcamelot/pseuds/Leahelisabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Good and evil. Darkness and light. Not opposites, just two sides of the same coin. The brothers are caught in the middle. AU ending to Dark Side of the Moon. Hurt!Sam, Angst!Dean. Rated T for coming violence and gore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in 2010 before we met Garth. The character in this fic is not based on him.

Sam shot bolt upright, gasping for air, the coppery tang of blood spilling out of his mouth and his head pounding. He shivered and shook, wrapping his tattered shirt tightly around him. He looked down at the blood staining his front, then pulled open his shirt to reveal unbroken skin. It was bruised to hell, but there was no sign of the fatal gunshot wounds that had stolen his life away not many hours before.

"Dean?" he called out hoarsely, trying to rub away the crusts from his eyes, peering through the darkness to find out his location. All he knew was that he was cold and he lay on broken concrete and the sound of his breath was the only sign of life. "Dean!" he cried out again. The last thing he remembered was the crushing pain as the bullets hit his chest and flying back onto the bed, seeing the devastated look on his brother's face.

Oh God, had they killed Dean too? And why wasn't he dead? He should be dead. No one could survive that kind of a blast at such close range. "Hello," he shouted. "Can anyone hear me?" His voice echoed around him and he realized he was in a large room, but no matter how hard he squinted, he couldn't make out a hint of light in the blackness.

He tried to get to his feet but his knees felt like jelly and his head swam. He sank back to the ground, shivering uncontrollably once more. He crawled forward on his hands and knees, trying to find a wall, a door, any way out. The floor ended abruptly about three feet away, his hand was suddenly falling through empty air, his chest cracking painfully as it slammed into the concrete floor. He rolled and thrust himself back violently, trying to get away from the edge. As he pushed himself backward, nearly ready to panic, he felt his hand slide off once again into nothingness. He grunted as his shoulder blade cracked against the stone. For one heart stopping instant, he lay there, seconds from overbalancing and plunging into what he imagined was a never ending abyss. Pain shot through his fingertips as he clawed at the broken concrete.

Finally, his hand caught in a tiny crack. It was enough to pull his body away from the edge and he curled up in a tiny ball, breathing hard, focusing on the crushing pain that filled his chest, allowing it to distract him from the fact that he did not know where Dean was and he had no idea how he was going to get out, and more importantly, letting it distract him from the fear.

Sam did not know how long he lay there, just breathing, until finally he got up the courage to once more explore his surroundings. He crept to the edge, much more carefully this time and felt along the edge as it curved around him, allowing him to discover he was on a circular platform, about twenty five feet across and the ground below it was further than he could reach, even when he carefully lowered one leg over into the blackness. There was no way off the platform except for a narrow walkway, not even four inches wide. Sam wanted to follow it, but he could not bear the thought of trusting himself to something so tiny when he could not see where it led. For all he knew, it would crumble as soon as he trusted his full weight to it, sending him to his death.

In the end, he sat still, as close as he could to the center of the platform, hugging his arms across his chest. He had never been so terrified.

Finally, the silence was broken by the sound of a footfall, and then another. "Dean?" he called out softly, hoping against hope that salvation was near. There was no answering call, just the soft sound of leather shoes on stone and the whisper of unfamiliar breathing and Sam knew it wasn't Dean.

The footsteps came slowly closer and Sam finally managed to get to his feet, determined not to meet this new threat lying down. If his brother was missing or, God forbid, dead, Sam would not let his death go to waste by sitting still and waiting to die.

There was the sound of fingers snapping and a light lit the darkness. The dark figure of a man stood on the narrow walkway, delicately poised with one hand raised in the air, a single pure white flame burning on his index finger.

Sam let out a muffled groan as the light pierced his eyes. White flashes burst before him and he could barely make out the man walking toward him.

"Well hello Sammy Winchester. We are so pleased to have you as a guest in our home. I hope you have been making yourself comfortable." The voice was smooth and pleasant, like rich milk chocolate.

"Where is my brother? Why am I here?" Sam yelled hoarsely, trying to make out a face through his blinded eyes.

"Your brother? I have no idea. Probably back in the motel room we took your body from. I did nothing with him. And as for you, we know who you are and we want to win the war."

The man drew close enough that Sam could make out some of his features. The beautiful white light illuminated one half of his face. It was serenely exquisite, with chiselled features and bright blue eyes that reflected the light. Sam strained to see the rest of him, catching a glimpse of an eye like a polished black marble and a mouth distorted by cruelty.

"Just whose side are you on?" Sam took a step closer.

"Naughty, naughty Sammy. You know that curiosity killed the cat. You will learn everything, all in good time. But for now, lights out!"

SNAP! There was a blinding flash. Sam gripped his head in agony then. . .nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean woke slowly, stretching like a cat. He relaxed for a moment into the soft bed before cringing when his movement brought his skin into contact with his sticky shirt. His eyes popped open as memory returned in a rush. He was lunging toward the other bed even as his mind registered that it was empty.

His stomach clenched painfully as he saw the bloodstains that covered the rumpled sheets. He began to call out frantically for Sam, but the shout died in his throat as he noticed light under the bathroom door and the sound of the shower running.

He lay back in the bed in relief and allowed his eyes to close once more. Against his will, his mind drifted back to heaven and what he and Sam had experienced there. His heart broke anew as he remembered every one of Sam's memories that had not included him and disappointment flooded his soul as he realized that God truly wasn't listening, to him or anyone else. He had never felt so alone, even as the sound of the shower running reminded him that his brother still lived. He made a conscious effort to wrest his thoughts away from painful territory, but the picture of his latest one night stand or the memory of the last time he made a little merry kept getting pushed away by the angry thoughts and accusations running through his mind.

Finally, he came back to himself enough to glance at the clock and he realized a good half hour had passed. He had still not heard anything from Sam, just the flow of running water.

"Hey Princess, hurry it up in there." He banged on the door with the flat of his palm. A cold chill ran down his spine when there was no annoyed comeback.

He grimaced as his sock covered toes suddenly became very wet. He looked down at his feet and saw water seeping out from under the door. Dean was choked by fear and he lifted up one foot and kicked down the bathroom door.

The floor was covered in water and more was pouring in sheets over the edge of the bathtub as the shower ran, but even worse, there was no little brother anywhere. If Sam had run away again. . .Dean was gonna kill him.

.~o()o~.

When Sam awoke, he was still stuck in the darkness and it was much colder. His teeth were chattering and he shivered uncontrollably. Icicles had formed in his eyebrows and hair and he wished desperately he had more than his tattered shirt to wrap around himself. He pushed himself to his feet, finding it a little easier this time. He wished he could run around or do some jumping jacks or something to get the blood pumping, but in the back of his mind was the memory of the horrible moment he had put his hand down and found nothing but air. He rubbed his arms and stomped in place a couple of times, trying to get the blood flowing. Then he dropped back to the ground, doing a few push ups and sit ups.

He was getting warmer, but he felt a light sweat break out on his forehead and when he stopped to take a breath, it froze to his skin and he was quickly even colder than before. He crawled on his hands and knees, once more tracing the dimensions of his prison. There were no bars, no locks, not even a door, but he was as confined as if he had been chained.

"Come and face me, you son of a bitch!" Sam yelled to the surrounding darkness. There was no answer, just the resounding echo of his own voice.

The feeling of immense space surrounded and Sam wished for walls. He couldn't bear the thought of all the emptiness around him, emptiness that could be filled with all manner of monsters. He punched the floor beneath him in frustration, the feeling of his bruised knuckles grounding him back in the real world.

He didn't know how long he sat in the dark before something changed, and when it did, he hardly noticed. The temperature slowly rose and it was with surprise that he realized he could finally feel his toes again. He relaxed and the warmth lulled him toward sleep once more. As his eyelids grew heavier, he realized that the temperature was still rising. The prickle of sweat popped out on his forehead and it became harder to breathe as the air heated to that of a day in the dead of summer, then beyond. Very soon, he was drowning in his sweat and he longed for a simple glass of water with the same intensity he had dreamed of a blanket earlier.

He pressed himself against the stone, trying to eke out what coolness was left within it, but that too began to heat up and very soon he was standing, wavering, stripping out of all clothing but his boxers, not able to bear anything touching his overheated body. At the moment he thought it surely could not get any hotter, the room burst into flame. Sam screamed, feeling the vibration of his voice tearing his throat apart from the inside, but unable to hear it over the whooshing of the flames.

The rock he stood upon began to raise blisters on the bottom of his feet and Sam started to jog on the spot, trying to keep as little contact with the stone as possible. The blisters on his feet grew and popped, sending splashes of blood across the stone where it instantly cooked. Tears poured from his eyes, evaporating into clouds of steam almost as soon as they hit his cheeks.

For the first time, Sam could see where he was as the cavern was lit by the hellish orange glow. The walls and ceiling were so far away they were almost indistinguishable in the haze. Sam coughed and choke on the smoke, knowing he should get as low as possible to breathe, but unable to stomach the thought of the damage the superheated would do to his body. The thin spire of rock that led from the stone to the wall seemed to grow narrower as he looked at it, but it was his only salvation. He ran toward it at top speed and fled across it, everything in him screaming for escape.

He had barely run ten feet along the four inch wide path before the pain in his feet overwhelmed everything and he stumbled. He grasped desperately at the path and bit through his lip at the agony that caused. He couldn't hold on and his grip was torn loose, leaving chunks of his palm cooked to the rock.

He screamed through his destroyed throat as he fell toward the endless flames, only to stop suddenly, hovering between life and an agonizing demise.

He looked up, barely conscious and saw his captor standing and watching him, dressed in a heavy black suit and cape, unaffected by the flames.

"He must be purified," quiet words cut through the voices of the hungry flames.

"He must be preserved," a snarl twisted the calm face of the man.

"The world must be cleansed." Serenity once again took over his features.

"The world must be ruled." The man growled.

"My master wills it," spoke the voice of the angel.

"My master commands it," rasped the voice of a demon.

Then the flames took hold of Sam. Conscious thought melted into a cacophony of pain and light, heat and the color orange, until it finally slipped away, leaving Sam in darkness once more.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean stood in the middle of the room, completely and utterly ticked off. "Sammy, this had better not be some kind of joke. You get in this room right now or you are seriously dead," he yelled. He wasn't really surprised when there was no answer. Pictures flashed through his head, pictures of Sam's heaven, the heaven without Dean and cold fear punched him in the gut.

"Fine! Leave! But don't expect to just waltz back in here and run into my open arms. If you are gone, you stay gone!" Dean punched the wall in fury, crying out as his knuckles split, but not letting up his assault on the drywall until it and his knuckles were a bloody mess. He slid down to sit on the floor, cradling his head in his broken hands. A flash of silver beckoned him from under the bed. The red haze cleared from his mind to be replaced by cold suspicion as he crawled forward and retrieved Sam's favourite knife from where it had been shoved almost out of sight.

Straightening up from his crouch, Dean looked at the room like a hunter rather than a distraught older brother. He saw Sam's duffle, half unpacked from the night before, and Sam's cellphone and wallet sitting on the table by the bed. This on its own wouldn't have raised any flags. Sam had tried before to start a completely new life, although he had usually left a way to contact him, but for Sam to leave his knife was completely unheard of. As much as he had longed to leave the life of hunting behind him, he wasn't stupid. He would never run away unarmed. As Dean looked through their weapons bag, everything was accounted for. Even Sam's Swiss Army Knife was in the pocket of the jeans he had worn the day before.

Finally, Dean took a closer look at the carpet and saw darker spots soaked into the rusty brown colour. He gritted his teeth when he realized it was blood, and not drops of blood, as if Sam had walked out of the room on his own power, but smears, as if someone had been dragged.

He opened the door and looked at the frame, cringing when he saw the obvious tool marks and a yellow substance that stunk like rotten eggs, sulphur.

"Awesome," Dean growled. His fingers were dialling before his brain told him to pull out his phone.

"Dean? Where the hell you been boy? What?. . ."

"Bobby, I need your help," Dean interrupted quickly. "Sam's been taken."

.~o()o~.

Sam felt sunburnt all over. Stabbing pains tore through his eyelids when he tried to open them and every movement brought the feeling of raw skin rubbing together. The stone was blissfully cool and Sam tried to press every possible inch of his fevered flesh against it. He pulled in a deep breath of smoke free air, but it soon came exploding out of him in a violent coughing fit. It tore through his shredded throat and sent spasms of agony through his battered ribs, but he couldn't stop long enough to draw in a real breath.

He pulled his hands to his mouth, trying to stifle the sound and that is when the real pain hit. Bolts of lightning shot up and down his arms from hands that felt as if they had been torn apart and put back together.

"Dean," he whimpered helplessly, trying to get some sound out around the pieces of glass in his throat. Finally the coughing stopped and Sam lay as still as he could, breathing shallowly, palms flat to the cold rock, trying to numb the pain.

"Isn't it pathetic, Tahariel? This is the vessel of the great Lucifer. Surely there is someone more. . .worthy." An oily, cringing voice came out of the darkness. Sam struggled to keep his breathing even, allowing the pain to keep him grounded and distract him from his fear, setting his face like stone into the darkness.

"You would think so," sweet, celestial tones brought a breath of fresh air into the cavern. "You would think it would be harder to steal him from his brother, to char his flesh and scatter his remains across the galaxy."

Sam flinched away from the voice, wishing there was some light, his sightless eyes conjuring up visions of a monster standing over him, sword poised to shatter him into oblivion.

"You are right, as always. Someone must inform the master that his vessel must be better protected. We cannot win this war if Lucifer is stuck inside those rotting corpses, unable to take his true place at the head of the army." An image of a whipped cur flashed into Sam's mind as the first voice spoke again.

"That is what I have been saying all this time," Sam was reminded of Anna, this voice the same as her voice, filled with the same angelic sweetness and the same dogmatic devotion.

"Just please, tell me what you want, tell me who you are," Sam tried to sound commanding but all that came out was a breathy moan.

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy," Both voices blended together, angel and devil and Sam's blood ran cold. "We want to save you."

"I will save you from death," spoke the darkness.

'I will save you from a living hell," spoke the light.

"And as for who we are," the voices spoke as one again. "We share a familiar face." The man snapped his fingers and instead of a single flame, the whole chamber was illuminated. Sam scrunched his eyes tightly shut as the light blasted his brain, salty tears burning their way down his sensitive cheeks.

"If you want to see, you have to open your eyes," angelic tones sounded. Sam felt his eyes forced open by invisible fingers. More tears pouring down his face as the light surrounded him. Finally, he adjusted to the brightness, and a face began to materialize out of the haze. To his surprise, it was indeed one he recognized.

"Garth?" Sam gasped, wincing at the pain in his throat.

"Once we were Garth, but now we are much more." The details of the face began to come into focus and Sam found himself staring up into the face of one of his father's old hunting buddies, a man they had not seen for a good ten years, but yet it wasn't quite the face Sam remembered. One side was as handsome as ever, with bright blue eyes and an easy smile and the other a mere parody of life, frozen in the rictus of death, gazing at the world through an eye like a polished black marble.

"He called you Tahariel. You're an angel?" Sam rasped.

"Yes, I am an angel of the Lord, but I am not alone in here." Mocking laughter echoed around the room as the man stretched one hand out to where Sam lay on the ground, unable to tell his frozen muscles to move. "Are you ready to see your salvation?"


	4. Chapter 4

"What do you mean, taken?" Bobby's voice boomed out of the tinny cellphone speakers.

"Just what I said Bobby. Sam is nowhere to be found," there was a note of desperation in Dean's voice.

"Are you sure he didn't just run off again?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. He didn't take anything with him. His cell is here, as is all the cash in his wallet and he is completely unarmed, he doesn't even have his pocket knife, and that really isn't like him. He's not stupid enough to take off when he is vulnerable like that."

"I thought you were looking out for him, ya idjit."

"Well sorry, I was kind of dead at the time and since he was too, I didn't expect him to get up and go," Dean said, getting all snarky.

"Whoa, pause and rewind. You were WHAT?!" Bobby jumped in.

"Long story."

"Cliff notes version then."

"We were killed by hunters and sent to heaven. Heaven sucks, the angels are still dicks, God's abandoned us and the Angel Joshua sent us back here to fulfill our 'destiny.' Now the whole world's going to hell and Sam is probably going to be the one to push it over the edge into the flames." Dean paused in his tirade before continuing in a softer voice. "You don't suppose. . .he said yes, do you? Maybe he's already walking around with a parasitic leech named Lucifer feeding off his soul."

"Boy, if I were there, I would punch you so hard your head would be spinning right into next week. Don't you know your own brother better than that? You know damn well that if Sam is gone, it wasn't his idea and he is still fighting it with everything in him. You gotta have a little faith."

"Faith!" Dean scoffed. "There's nothing to believe in any more. Even the good guys can't be trusted and Sam. . .Sam is not the man he used to be. You have seen him change, the darkness running through his veins like poison."

"There was light in Sam long before there was darkness. It might be shrouded right now, but it didn't go anywhere. Sam hasn't let it go out, and if you could pull your nose out of your navel for three seconds you would realize he never will. Now get up off your brains and go find your brother!"

And Dean was left staring at the silent cellphone, wishing he knew where to begin.

.~o()o~.

Sam was silent, waiting. His foggy consciousness could hardly comprehend what was going on. An angel, it had to be an angel, but also something more. How can there be more than an angel? Did it want to save him or kill him. . .maybe both?

"Don't worry Samuel," the angelic voice, Tahariel, was speaking once again. "This may hurt for a time, but you will pass through the flames and will be given heavenly rest. This will finally be over. 'And I will bring the third part through the fire, and will refine them as silver is refined, and will try them as gold is tried: they shall call on my name, and I will hear them: I will say, It is my people: and they shall say, The LORD is my God.' Do you know who spoke those words, Samuel?"

"Well, it sure as hell wasn't you. You won't ever be my God," Sam growled through clenched teeth, fighting to keep from shivering as the temperature dropped once more.

"Of course not, that would be blasphemy." The angel sounded truly horrified. "They are words spoken by my Father through the prophet Zachariah. It is also what he intends for you, for you to be tried and purified. What is that colloquialism you humans are so found of using? Oh yes, no pain, no gain." At those words, the angel grasped Sam's left thumb and pulled it out of the socket.

Sam sucked in a huge gasp of air, holding it until he could let it out without screaming, not wanting to give Tahariel the satisfaction.

The angel just smiled, grabbing a finger and snapping the bone. Sam bit right through his lip. The angel kept moving through his hand, individually breaking each one of the small bones. Blood dripped off Sam's chin and filled his mouth with the coppery, sickening taste. Sam gagged and coughed and struggled to turn his head to the side to spit it out, but he was still frozen in one place and was forced to swallow it, the thick warmth sliding down his throat making him want to puke.

The angel intoned over him in his sweet voice punctuated by the sound of snapping bone. "Agnus Dei," SNAP "Qui tollis peccata mundi," CRACK "Miserere nobis." CRUNCH "Dona eis requiem." Sam became more vocal with each bone that was broken, starting with a harsh catch in his breath, then a stifled grunt, then a full fledged moan.

Tahariel finished his left arm, breaking his humerus with conviction, then he casually dropped it back to the stone and Sam screamed. He kept screaming as the angel moved on to his right, once again beginning at the finger bones. The horrible primitive cry continued from his throat until his voice couldn't handle it anymore and gave out on him, somewhere around the left tibia.

When his pelvis shattered under a sharp blow from the angel's rock hard fist, he had one moment of clarity, enough to wonder why he was still awake, much less alive. The shock and pain should have killed him long ago.

After the first three ribs, he managed to open his pain-glazed eyes and look into the stony blue of the angel's. "Let me die," he rasped, barely audible.

"Not yet Samuel, the evil, it's in your bones. I have to set it free. You have to be clean. I am doing all of this to save you. Then you will be free to live in heaven for eternity. It is a handsome gift I give you. You should be grateful. I could kill you and let you rot in hell."

"Dean. . ." panted Sam. ". . .needs me."

"Dean doesn't need anyone," Tahariel replied cryptically, finishing one side of Sam's ribcage and starting on the other. "And don't worry, once I crush your skull, it will be all over."

Sam whimpered and wept from the pain when the angel flipped him onto his stomach. He cried in blessed relief when the snapping of his first vertebrae brought blessed numbness to his legs. Now he measured time not in the agonizing snap of bones, but in the death that crept up his body, one bone at a time.

As the angel broke his neck, he felt his heartbeat become erratic and his lungs froze, unable to draw another breath.

"Soon Sammy, soon," the angel crooned, caressing Sam's hair with a gentle hand. All Sam wished was to see his brother one more time, to say sorry, to say 'I love you,' but he could measure his time left in seconds and he welcomed the thought that at least this would all be over.

As Sam began to close his eyes for the last time, the voice changed, becoming ingratiating and whiny. "No no, this won't do. My master cannot step into a broken body." There was a snap of the fingers and Sam felt life and feeling rush through his body. He was sore as hell, but mostly put back together. The horrific burns on the palms of his hand had even shifted into waxy puckered scars, ugly but healed.

A wave of exhaustion hit Sam like a Tsunami and he began to succumb to sleep. Gentle hands eased him onto his back and brushed his hair back from his sweaty forehead. "That's it Sammy, rest. You have to regain your strength for my master." Sam's eyes closed and the dreams began.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean didn't know where to start. He didn't know who had taken Sam, just that it was demonic and Lucifer's sticky fingers were probably all over it.

He began by going over every inch of the motel room, searching for any clue. He had a nagging feeling that something was wrong with the scene, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He was kneeling on the floor with his head under the bed when a deep voice came from behind him.

"Your brother isn't under there, Dean." Dean jumped and yelped, seeing stars when he slammed his head into the wooden bed frame.

"Damn it Cas, I told you not to sneak up on me," He shouted.

"Sorry, I have been here for several minutes and I thought my breathing would be sufficient noise to alert you to my presence."

"Well next time, try knocking. How did you find me anyway," Dean asked, rubbing his sore head. He was going to have a lump later.

"I called Bobby. He told me you were here. And why were you searching for Sam under the bed? It wouldn't be the most comfortable place for him."

"I am well aware that Sam is not there, but I can't figure out where he is until I know who took him and maybe. . .just maybe, the son of a bitch left something behind." Dean crawled back under the bed, now thoroughly exasperated.

"Yeah. . .about that. One of my brothers has taken him," Castiel said, clearly uncomfortable.

"What?!" Dean crawled back out, his eyes murderous. " How can that be? There is sulphur covering everything. Sam had to have been taken by a demon."

"Look at the salt lines. They are completely unbroken, just as you left them. No demon came through. No demon would have fixed them after taking Sam, it wouldn't have been able to. Whatever took Sam had to be something else."

"So are we back to square one then?"

"No, I know where Sam is. He has been taken by Tahariel, the Angel of purification. The Enochian Sigils on Sam's ribs have been broken so he is no longer hidden to me.

"Broken?" Dean paled. "What do you mean broken?"

"Well, either the angel erased them. . .or he shattered every bone in Sam's ribcage," Castiel spoke seriously.

"That bastard," Dean yelled. "What are we waiting for? Take me to Sam." Dean shoved his 45. in the back of his pants and looked expectantly at Castiel.

"It isn't that simple, Dean. If I can find Sam, then it's a safe bet that Lucifer can find him too. We can't go in there without a plan."

"Screw planning. We may not have much time." Dean had a horrible thought. "Unless it isn't as urgent as I think because Sam is already dead. That's it, isn't it? Sam's gone and we are stealing his body back."

"No, your brother is alive, but he is in terrible danger. I am not so sure Tahariel is the only one occupying his vessel."

"Then let's go. Sam is all I have. He may not mean that much to you. . ."

Castiel grabbed Dean by the collar and slammed him hard up against the wall. "Don't you dare say that," he growled. "My father is gone and I have rebelled against heaven. My brother's won't speak to me and why is that? Because I am the enemy and if they find me, they will kill me. Sam may be an abomination, but you two are the only family I have left and I did this for him as much as I did it for you. If you go in guns blazing, you will both die and everything I have done will be for nothing."

Dean relented. "Fine, we'll come up with a plan, but let's make it quick and then let's get my brother back."

Castiel smiled slightly. "You have my word, Dean Winchester.

.~o()o~.

As Sam woke slowly from an exhausted sleep, a plan began forming in his mind. It wasn't much of one, just the ghost of an idea really, and it all fell apart after a certain point, but it was the only thing he could come up with and he couldn't bear to sit in the dark and take this without a fight.

He felt around every inch of the stone platform, finding the smoothest and cleanest area, then settled down to wait. He was jittery and jumped at every unexplained sound, straining his eyes and ears for any sign of his foe. He wished he could forget the whole thing, just wake up in a skeevy motel room with Dean, leave this as a painfully vivid nightmare, but he knew it was real. His stomach grumbled, the emptiness making him nauseous, and his tongue felt permanently glued to the roof of his mouth.

He had to fight to keep his eyes from closing. He wasn't in any real pain, his bones and burns having been healed, but a dull headache throbbed behind his eyes and with every moment that passed, it grew harder to contain his fear.

"I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past, I will turn my inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone, there will be nothing. Only I will remain," Sam muttered to himself, the chant his father had taught them when they were young didn't have any magic power like he thought it had back then, but it brought back memories of simpler times and kept him grounded in the here and now, ready and waiting.

A foot fall sounded in the darkness, then another, coming closer. Sam knew it was time. He steeled himself, breathing deeply and bit hard into the flesh between forefinger and thumb, not stopping until he tasted blood. Quickly, he drew his hand across the flat section of stone, drawing circles and symbols. He could only hope he was doing it right without a single light or clear point of reference. Finally he lifted his bleeding hand and slammed it into the center of the symbol he had just drawn. There was a blinding flash of light and Sam relaxed in relief.

Mocking laughter echoed through the room. Sam finally managed to open his eyes against the glare and looked down. He had drawn the sigil perfectly, but when he looked at the thin walkway, the man was still there.

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy, Tahariel told you he wasn't alone in this body." Both eyes flashed black as the man turned on his smarmy car salesman voice. "I am not letting him go anywhere. Oh where are my manners? I am Steve. I'm a big fan of your work, especially the recent apocalypse."

Sam changed tactics and began reciting in Latin. Black eyes turned black to blue and the voice sweetened. The man stood there and smiled as Sam finished the exorcism. Nothing happened. "I am keeping him locked to me inside this body and your silly chanting has no power over an angel."

Sam leapt to his feet and with a strangled cry of rage and frustration, lunged at Tahariel, punching and kicking, trying to force him off the ledge. The angel stood there, looking slightly amused. Finally, he raised his hand and Sam was back in the center of the platform, muscles locked and rigid, unable even to blink.

"It's a neat trick, putting an angel and a demon in the same body. It isn't easy, in fact we are the first and only to accomplish this. But once you do, oh the power you feel. We have all the strengths of both and none of the weaknesses. Don't you wish you knew how it felt to be unstoppable. Every moment is intoxicating."

"H-Huh?" Sam managed to huff through nearly paralyzed lungs.

"You want to know how? Garth wanted to save the world, as do I. Steve wanted to save you and I felt the same. When Garth said yes, I simply took Steve in with me. There was nothing he could do. Now Steve and I are locked into his body. It turned out we had different ideas of what is meant by saving you and saving the world, but don't you worry, I will purify you yet. I will save you, Sam Winchester."

Steve spoke again. "I will keep you for my master. I will save you, Sam Winchester."

Steve snapped his fingers and Sam could move again. The room plunged into darkness and footsteps retreated into the black. Sam was left, cursing in frustration, yet more determined than ever to find his way out.


	6. Chapter 6

"Please Cas, let's go," Dean said as he paced up and down, wearing a path in the carpet. "Man, I thought Sammy was anal. You make him look like the king of impulse."

"If they wanted him dead, they would have killed him already."

"And if Lucifer has him?"

"Then a few minutes more won't make a difference. It's already too late," Castiel said seriously.

"And if these few minutes make the difference between us getting Sam and Lucifer taking him? We can't wait. I will never forgive myself or you if we could have saved him."

"You are right," Cas sighed. "I'll have my sword, you bring Sam's demon killing knife and we will figure it out when we get there."

"Finally," Dean muttered as Castiel reached out with two fingers, pressing them to his forehead, then they were gone."

.~o()o~.

Sam is a Winchester, and as such, has a pathological inability to give up. There was no way he was going to sit still and wait for either Tahariel or Steve's plans to come to pass.

"Alright Sam," he muttered painfully to himself. "Don't be a whiny little girl. Can't have Dean come to get me and find me lying down on the job." He sat up shakily and contemplated getting to his feet, but figured it would be easier to navigate the walkway if he was closer to the ground.

He sucked in a deep breath when he reached the edge, slowly easing his body onto the narrow spire of stone. Horrific pictures plashed through his mind as he imagined himself falling off into a pit so deep that hell itself waited at the bottom, or simply falling forever and starving to death as he went on and on into the blackness.

He refused to let it stop him and was soon pulling himself along, not even trusting himself to get on his knees, but with his legs straddling the walkway and his butt firmly planted to the stone.

He kept moving, inches at a time, for what felt like hours. The harsh whisper of his jeans sliding along the stone and his own laboured breathing was the only thing that cut the silence. Sam felt his jeans tear from the friction and the harsh stone bit into his skin. He did not stop even as rivulets of blood began to run down the back of his thighs, dripping into the abyss below him.

"BOO!" a voice shouted. Sam jumped, startled, and his hands slipped off the rock. For an instant, hands scrabbled frantically as he tried to stop himself from falling forward. His chest hit the walk and he wrapped his arms and legs around it, clinging desperately.

"Now look who's afraid of the Big Bad Wolf. Better hold on, cause I'm gonna huff and puff and blow you down."

"You have centuries to plan your evil villain dialogue and that is the best you can come up with?" Sam smirked, stuffing his pain and fear down as far as they would go.

"Honestly, I spent more time on the laugh. A lot of guys ignore the laugh, and that's about standards. You think Bad Horse didn't work on his whinny? His terrible death-whinny." Peals of spine-tingling, maniacal laughter echoed off the walls, sending vibrations through the stone that Sam was desperately trying to glue himself to.

Then the wind began, like a giant hand shoving him sideways. Sam held harder but the wind was insidious, searching for the tiniest cracks between his body and the stone and worming their way in.

To his horror, his arms and legs began to tremble. His fingers grew slippery with sweat and began to lose their grip. Sam frantically tried to readjust, searching for any way to keep hold of the rock, but a huge gust caught him just as he did and tore his upper body off the walkway so all that was between him and a long fall were his long legs.

His torso caught the wind like a sail and no matter how hard he fought it, he couldn't get his arms back around and every second the wind blew, his grip loosened until finally he was torn away altogether and flung into the air.

As soon as he was over empty space, the wind stopped blowing and he was free falling into the unknown, screaming. The landing happened all too soon. For several long seconds, he couldn't breathe. His mouth opened and closed as he struggled to pull in even the tiniest bit of air.

Finally the vise that crushed his ribcage relented and he sucked in a monstrous breath. Spasms gripped his chest and he began to cough. Sticky liquid sprayed out of his mouth, covering his chest and face. He whimpered in between every cough as they shook his broken body.

"The evil in you runs so deep, Samuel Winchester. Why else would you try to run from your salvation?"

Sam lay on the ground, gasping and choking on his own blood. "Go to hell," he rasped.

"That is the place I am trying to save you from, and you want to send me there? That is not very nice, not very nice at all."

"This is your. . .idea of salvation?" Sam moaned from deep in his chest. "I think I'll. . .pass."

Sam felt himself being picked up gently. Every movement sent fire screaming along his nerves. He bit his lip so fiercely it began to bleed, but he couldn't keep back every groan and grunt of pain.

He was laid carefully back down on the stone. Calloused hands rested on his forehead and brushed his hair back. Tears rolled down Sam's cheeks, even his hair hurt. Tahariel snapped his fingers and the light returned. Sam's eyes burned.

"Leave me alone," Sam whimpered. "Just let me die."

"You don't know how much I wish I could, but you have not yet been cleansed."

"You son of a bitch. You broke. . .every bone in my body. Wasn't that. . .enough for you?" Sam gasped, desperately trying to stay conscious.

"Unfortunately," Tahariel crooned. "I underestimated the evil within you. Its an evil of the blood and without the shedding of blood, there is no remission of sin."

"Even I know enough Bible to know you are taking that out of context, but you want to bleed me? Take it all. Let me bleed out on the floor. End this." Sam gritted his teeth and held his wrist out to Tahariel, even though every movement sent splinters of pain through his ribs. Thick blood welled up in his throat again but he couldn't find the strength to turn his head and spit it out. He tried to force it out of his mouth, but it just dribbled over his chin while more came up to take its place. There was no choice but to swallow it down.

The moment the blood hit his stomach, his stomach rebelled. Vomit began to force its way up his oesophagus. Sam desperately tried to swallow it down as well but the need was too great to ignore.

He began to choke in earnest, the pain tethering him to the floor on his back as if he had been chained.

Suddenly, Steve was there, gently rolling Sam over onto his side, rubbing his back and healing whatever injuries he found.

"I told you I would save you," Steve soothed when Sam could finally breathe again.

"You really want to save me? Take me away from Tahariel or let him kill me. Don't leave me stuck here in the middle," Sam begged.

"Sorry Sammy, those aren't my orders. I am just to keep you here until it is time for Lucifer to get you himself."

"Lucifer?" Sam shivered. "When?"

Steve smiled chillingly. "As soon as you say yes."

"That's not going to happen," Sam growled. "You might as well just kill me. I won't be letting the devil take me for a ride anytime soon, and it's Sam."

"Whatever you say Sammy, but its only fair to warn you, I'm about to let Tahariel back out to play."

"Do your worst," Sam snarled. "That word will never pass my lips"

"Sure, sure, whatever you want, my boy, but don't say I didn't warn you."

Tahariel shook his head as Steve retreated. "Where was I? Ah yes, the shedding of blood. I do apologize Samuel, this is going to hurt."

"More than my bones being broken one by one?" Sam spat in his captor's face as he struggled to pull away. He managed to jump to his feet and took three gigantic running strides before he was halted, arms, legs and head moving without his consent as if pulled by giant strings. His face turned purple as he fought every movement.

"Let the evil out Samuel. Tear the evil from your veins." Tahariel spoke serenely and Sam watched, terrified as his left hand moved toward his right wrist. He fought against it, but he could only stare as his own fingers tore into the flesh of his forearm, ripping off chunks of skin and muscle, blood puddling beneath him on the ground.

He grew faint, but Tahariel kept him upright and awake and, once his arm was a ruined mass of white bone and tendon, weeping red into the floor, his mangled right hand tore into his other arm.

The only part of him that remained under his control was his voice and he was soon crying and begging for it all to stop, promising anything, saying anything, well, anything but yes.

"finally, even the angel's power couldn't keep him upright. He slumped and his eyes rolled back into his head before closing. He exhaled and his chest did not rise again. The rhythm of his heart faltered and slowed before finally coming to a stop.

"Goodnight Samuel, go to your rest." Tahariel whispered.


	7. Chapter 7

"Where are we Cas?" Dean yelled as he gazed around at the desert.

"Sam is close," Castiel replied.

"You better take me to where he is right now."

"I can't take you any further. Look around at the desert, you see those mounds?" At Dean's nod, Castiel continued. "Every single one of those mounds forms a symbol, like the Nazca lines in Peru, and each one of those symbols keeps me from entering the place where Sam is being held."

"I thought you said Sam was being held by an angel, why would he lock himself out of his own prison?"

"I don't know Dean, this is something different. I know Tahariel is behind this, but there is something off. He doesn't seem to be vulnerable to certain things that he should be," Castiel sighed.

"Great, an angel with frigging immunity and he cancels out your mojo. Show me the way to go and I will get him myself."

"There is no entrance Dean. You would have to dig through 25 feet of solid rock to reach the place he has taken Sam."

"Damn it Cas, you give me a way to get to my brother or I will do my level best to pound you into the ground and right through those 25 feet of solid rock where you can land on the angel and bust him in half with your hard head," Dean spoke softly, his voice turning deadly in anger.

"If you destroy them, I can get you through."

"All of them?" Cas nodded and Dean heaved a mournful sigh. "Let's do it then." Dean strode over to the nearest mound and began to dig at it with his bare hands. He raised one eyebrow as he looked back over his shoulder. "You coming?"

"I can't touch them Dean," Castiel said expressionlessly.

"Well, then you better conjure me up a shovel or something. We are wasting time."

Castiel disappeared and reappeared with a shovel in his hands. Dean wordlessly snatched it from his hands and drove it into the side of the first mound. For the next several hours, there was only the sound of Dean grunting as he tossed shovels full of dirt and the occasional word from Cas when a symbol was sufficiently mutilated to let him pass.

They were about halfway through when the angel put his hand on Dean's shoulder and stopped him. "I am sorry Dean, we are too late, Sam is gone."

Dean shook off Castiel's hand angrily. "Not when we are so close, even if his body is the only thing we bring back, I need to get to him. Besides, what if you are wrong? What if this is a trick? I need to know for sure." And then he turned back to his digging, ignoring the weeping red blisters on his palms, denying the headache that pounded behind his eyes from dehydration, overlooking the trembling in his arms and legs from exhaustion.

Cas looked on with sorrow in his eyes. He had felt Sam's heart stop.

.~o()o~.

Sam gasped and sat up. Frantically, he looked down at his forearms but, although the blood still stained them and pooled around him on the ground, only scars remained, twisted, ropy and lumpy scars, but his skin was sealed and blood pumped through his veins where it belonged.

"It was close that time," Steve spoke from the darkness.

"You should have let me stay dead," Sam whispered, exhausted.

"Sorry Sammy, I like you, I really do. You're very strong and you really have been taking this like a man, but I like my own life too and it won't be worth much if I let you slip through my fingers."

"I'm not going to change my mind," Sam snarled. "You are better off telling Lucifer that the angel killed me and scattered my atoms to the four winds than admitting you failed to change my mind."

"How about this? I will give you one more round with Tahariel, and if you can resist, I will release you from your body. I will let you die." Steve smiled one more obnoxious grin before his features grew calm.

"It's so sad, how deep this stain goes, deeper than bone, than blood. This blackness taints your very soul. Perhaps we can cleanse you through prayer and meditation."

"If prayer worked, I wouldn't be tainted at all," Sam scoffed. "You have no idea how many times I begged God to take this away, but I guess it is just my burden to bear."

"I am certain you prayed to the best of your abilities," Tahariel said gently. "But distractions get in the way of your devotion. I will make sure nothing can distract you from the condition of your soul and your reconciliation with my father."

Sam felt a tightening sensation around his hands and feet. He looked down and saw that the stone had shifted, flowing like liquid around his extremities. He struggled but he was held fast and the stone was creeping upward, pulling him to lie on his back as it encased his body. He screamed frantically as the grey crept up his arms and legs, but when it reached his torso, he had the presence of mind to suck in a huge breath, expanding his ribcage to its capacity.

The stone covered his head and he was entirely cocooned in it. At first, he was afraid to breathe, afraid that the rock would settle the moment he exhaled, leaving him unable to draw in another breath, afraid there would be no air and he would suffocate in this prison of rock.

Finally, as bright stars began to flash behind his eyelids, he had to take in a breath. He nearly sobbed in relief when he opened his mouth and could feel air rushing into his lungs once again.

He lay there for a moment, enjoying the way the air moved in and out without obstruction until he realized it was the only thing he could feel. He had been effectively sealed off from all forms of physical stimuli. His fingers were splayed out and separated by stone, no part of his body was touching another and the stone was perfectly smooth and normal body temperature so he couldn't feel it touching his skin. He couldn't move a muscle, he couldn't hear a thing and the stone covered his eyes.

He screamed again. He could feel the vibrations in his throat, but he couldn't even hear the sound of his own voice. Suddenly, the chamber that appeared to leave him with ample room to breathe closed in on him. He began to hyperventilate, not able to fight the embrace of the stone. Bright flashing lights burst before his eyes again. Salty tears pooled in his eye sockets with nowhere to go, unable even to slide down his cheek.

His vision was now filled with psychedelic starbursts and other vivid hallucinations. He knew he was panicking, but he couldn't slow his breathing, couldn't stop fighting until finally everything was swallowed by blackness and his consciousness ebbed away.


	8. Chapter 8

Castiel put his hand on Dean's shoulder. "That's enough," he said.

"No!" Dean shouted, " not until we get to Sam!"

"That's what I mean. The symbols have all been destroyed. I can take you to him." He pressed his fingers to Sam's forehead and they instantly were inside a large stone cavern on a huge platform. Dean turned on his flashlight, but could hardly see anything in the gloom. Castiel blinked and suddenly the light grew much brighter. There was no sign of Sam.

"Sam? SAMMY?" Dean yelled. "Cas, where is he?"

Castiel was standing there looking around in awe. "I was wrong, Sam is alive! And he is in this room. It's brilliant really, keeping him where no human can hear him, or get to him if they could. Look at the wall's natural salt deposits, they keep out the demons and the symbols. . ."

"Shut up, I don't want to hear a word out of your mouth unless you are telling me where Sam is." Dean said, irritated. He looked around for something he might have missed earlier, but the platform was bare and featureless but for a low bench of stone in the very center.

"Here," Castiel said, striding over to the ridge of rock. "Your brother is here." He placed his hand on the stone and pointed out the two small air holes.

Dean thought he was going to be sick. "They buried him alive?"

"Its more like he has been cocooned. He isn't conscious right now, but he is in no immediate distress. He is quite fortunate they haven't done worse to him." Castiel spoke pragmatically.

"You thought he was dead, that must have been pretty bad. We gotta get him out of there before he wakes up again. Now you pull some of your magic angel crap and yank him right out of there."

"It isn't going to be that simple. The stone is warded against angels, just as the chamber was. You need to dig him out by hand," Cas shook his head regretfully.

"With what, my teeth?" Dean was about ready to throttle the oblivious angel. "Come on, Cas, this is no pile of sand at the beach. I don't know how thick the stone is that covers him or if there is room between it and his skin. Even if I had something to break through the stone, I could impale him. Impaling kills people. We don 't want to do it to Sam," Dean took on the precise, and mocking language of a frustrated adult trying to get a point across to a slow child.

"There is no other option," Cas said, unaware of Dean's impending explosion. "You have to try." He flashed out and flashed back in, handing Dean a stonecutter's hammer and chisel.

"You have got to be freaking kidding me!" Dean yelled. "I can't use a chisel on my baby brother."

"Can you think of a better way?" Castiel asked calmly. "We could try to melt the stone, but I think that would cause even more damage to Sam."

"Ya think?" Dean snatched the tools from Castiel's hands and, struggling to still his own trembling hands, he knelt down by the mound of stone.

He tried to angle his first stroke, barely tapping the chisel with the hammer but it slid across the smooth stone, finding no purchase. Sweat dripped down his forehead in spite of the coolness of the room. Finally, holding his breath, he grasped the chisel firmly and gave it a good strong blow with the hammer, sinking the blade into the stone. Then he began to give small taps, slowly guiding it into the stone.

Dean was nearly ready to remove the chisel and start working in another place to weaken the shell of stone when three things happened all at once. The blade of the chisel suddenly lost all resistance and sunk three or four inches in, right to the hilt. A horrible scream echoed through the cavern and when Dean grasped the chisel and drew it out, blood, thick and red, bubbled out of the hole and began to trickle down the stone.

.~o()o~.

Sam yawned as he looked at his watch. He had been in the library researching for about four and a half hours and he was starting to wonder why Dean hadn't shown up to pick him up yet. His stomach growled loudly and he blushed bright red when the pretty librarian in glasses stifled a giggle and winked at him, putting a slender finger to her lips mischievously.

"Sorry," he mouthed before turning back to his books and papers that were strewn all over the table.

A slow tapping noise broke the peaceful silence of the library. Sam looked up, trying to figure out where it was coming from, but he couldn't find the source. The longer he thought about it, the more he realized it was less like a sound and more like a full body vibration, humming in his bones and singing in his blood and striking to his very center. He looked over at the librarian to see if she could feel it and planned to stop it, but she just read her book, occasionally casting surreptitious glances his way. Their eyes met and Sam quirked up the corner of his mouth. He never did this, but he was feeling impulsive. He wrote his name and number on a piece of paper and walked by her desk.

"You dropped this," he spoke, trying not to squeak like a schoolboy and placing the paper on her desk. He flushed crimson and cursed his ineptness. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this nervous but there was something about librarians that alternately terrified him and turned him on. A few seconds later his phone vibrated on his hip, startling him violently.

 _Meet me in the rare books section._ Sam grinned and got up from his seat, making a show of stretching and heading toward the really old books. He soon stood in the murky darkness of the stacks, surrounded by leather spines and antiquity. He grinned when he heard her footsteps approaching, in unison with the strange tapping that had not stopped.

She walked immediately to him, putting her arms around his neck and pulling his lips to hers, the wonderful dusty smell of old books mingling with the taste of her mouth in a concoction that made his head spin. She was doing things with her tongue he hadn't felt from anyone since Jess.

He lifted her up in his arms and her legs wrapped around his waist, he pushed her up against the bookshelf, one hand running smoothly up and down her back, the other caressing the smooth aged leather of the books behind her head, losing himself in the sensations, tracing the titles with his fingers and mirroring the movements on her back.

"Oh Sam!" she broke away to breathe and buried her face in his neck. "Want to hear your voice. Talk to me." And Sam began reciting the titles of the books around him in a husky voice, his hand slipping under the bottom of her shirt and laying flat against her bare skin. He vaguely registered that the tapping was getting louder, beating in time with the thudding of his heart, suddenly it exploded into white hot agony in his side.

And Sam remembered where he was, that there was no library, no sexy librarian and that he was stuck in a featureless prison with no sensation other then the poker digging its way into his side.

He began screaming and couldn't stop as the tapping continued, sending jolts of pain through his wounded side. It didn't drive into him again but the tapping resonated through his shell like a bell until he thought it would drive him mad.

An eternity later, he felt air waft gently across his side and pressure applied to his wound. He could feel his lips and throat working as frantic pleas and cries tore out of him, but he still couldn't hear himself crying.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean bit his lip and continued to chisel away at the stone, his face set and determined. He didn't speak, other than to direct Cas to put pressure on the wound when he had chiselled away enough of the stone around it. Sam's screams ramped up another notch, something Dean didn't think was possible, when Castiel put his hands to the wound and pushed. Dean could hear the hoarseness in Sam's voice that meant this was not the only screaming he had done while he was missing.

Dean cleared out a big enough hole that he no longer had to chisel straight it. He could break the rock into smaller chunks and clear it away by going in sideways. He uncovered the rest of Sam's abdomen and his chest. He laid his hand flat on Sam's chest in an effort to reassure him with his presence, but Sam just shivered and flinched at the touch.

The last thing Dean wanted to do was take the chisel to the stone around Sam's head and neck, but he knew if he released Sam's arms and legs first, Sam would fight him and he really would cause his brother serious injury .

Dean chipped away miniscule amounts of stone, terrified that the chisel would slip and he would kill or maim Sam. It took him a good half hour before Sam's mouth was clear.

Sam immediately began sucking in huge gulps of air and Dean could finally hear that the screams that had been chipping away at his sanity were in fact words.

"Please. . .Let me die. . .Won't say yes. . .Dean?" Even as Dean listened, Sam's voice began to give out and the screams went from bone chilling to pathetic mumbling until only one word was discernible. "Dean!"

Dean's hands began to tremble again. "Cas, I don't. . .I can't." Castiel put his hand out and covered Dean's. Dean looked up and he could swear he saw emotion in his normally impassive face.

"If you crack the stone here and here," he said, pointing to Sam's temples, "you will have broken the sigils that bind his head and I can remove at least that much of him from the stone."

Dean wordlessly struck the stone where Cas indicated, cringing at the thought of the vibrations causing his brother any more damage. Cas placed his hand on the stone that covered Sam's forehead and muttered a few words of Enochian under his breath. The stone crumbled and fell away.

Trapped tears now rolled unhindered down Sam's cheeks and he struggled to open his eyes, cringing at the light, weak though it was. He looked up into Dean's face and his expression would have melted a heart of stone. "Dean. . ." his broken voice was so full of love and relief that Dean was overwhelmed with guilt for his earlier anger. "Get me out of here, Dean," Sam whispered.

Dean gently brushed Sam's sweaty bangs off his forehead. "Just hold on, we're working on it. Cas, can you magic him out of the rest of this?"

"I can free his hands and arms, but I can't get him all the way out until you clear his waist and thighs." Cas, replied, waving his arm and freeing thee rest of Sam's upper body. Dean gasped when the extensive scarring on Sam's forearm's and hands was revealed. It looked as if someone had shoved him into a meat grinder and carelessly sewn him back together.

Sam's hand immediately shot up and gripped Dean's shirt fiercely. "Thank you," he whispered.

"Anytime kiddo," Dean drew in a deep breath and picked up the chisel once again. At Sam's shiver he looked into his face. "Don't worry, I will be as careful here as if I was chiselling myself out."

Sam relaxed a little, but still watched his brother's every stroke. It was a little unnerving watching the chisel slowly wink into the stone, especially because pain shot up his side with every breath he took, a screaming testimony to the pain that would occur again if Dean slipped. He moaned and his eyes rolled back in his head when the vibrations grew too much to handle. Dean hoped he could finish before Sam woke up again, but he didn't stay unconscious for very long.

"Where's Tahariel? And Steve?" he gasped, trying to sit up.

"Son of a bitch, there are two of them?" Dean yelled, placing his hand flat on Sam's chest to hold him down.

"No, just one," Sam breathed.

"Then who is this Steve?" Castiel asked.

"Tahariel," Sam answered, eyelids fluttering once more.

"Damn it, Sam, how hard did you hit your head?" Dean was overwhelmed by a sense of urgency and he tried to hurry up, having now gotten past the really sensitive bits.

"Looking for me?" a voice whispered, hot air tickling Dean's ear. Dean jumped, carving a long, deep gash in Sam's thigh. Sam whimpered.

The chisel was ripped violently from Dean's fingers and Dean himself was pulled slowly into a standing position against his will.

"Poor Samuel," Tahariel spoke. "Look at how you've hurt him. How could you do such cruel things to this brother you claim to love. I am the one who truly loves Samuel. I am the one who is trying to save him."

"You've been doing one hell of a job," Dean gritted through clenched teeth. " I would give my life for Sam. What would you do? Injure him? Torment him? How long before you bleed him dry and break every bone in his body."

"Why, I have done both those things, but it is for his good. That is the way I love him best. I am willing to do what is necessary, even if it means his death. You, Dean, you were never strong enough to travel that path, to kill your brother when the darkness became obvious. I can give him that death. I can offer him redemption."

"And what if saving Sam meant giving up your own life? Do you love him enough to die in his place?"

"Ah, but it won't come to that. You see, I can't die," Tahariel smiled, irritatingly calm.

"Wanna bet?" Castiel growled from behind him, plunging the angel sword into his back until it tore right through him, protruding from his breast bone. Dean and Sam both flung an arm over their eyes, shielding them from the brightness of an angel's death. It never came.

Mocking laughter began to echo around the room. With a flick of the wrist, Tahariel sent Cas careening over the edge to the far off wall. He hit with a thud and slid down limply into the darkness.

Tahariel looked down at the silver point coming from his chest and, with an impressive bit of contortion, reached behind himself, grasped the handle and pulled it out with a sickening pop. He tossed it down near to where Sam was lying, calves and feet still trapped and he giggled again.

"Told ya!"


	10. Chapter 10

"CAS!" Dean shouted as he lunged forward, reaching for the angel's sword.

"Naughty, naughty Dean," Tahariel spoke, hand outstretched. Dean felt himself stop dead, unable to move a single muscle. "Wow, Steve really doesn't like you, perhaps because of the part you play in this coming war. You know, you were never meant to be involved in this. I have no issue with you so long as you play your part, but you would have to be difficult. Heaven has nothing but problems with you. Maybe my other brothers believe you will do the right thing in the end, but I think the famed Winchester stubbornness will hold out, leaving me with one course of action. If you won't let Michael make you his bitch, then you will be Steve's, and he doesn't feel the need to leave you as he found you."

Dean struggled harder, but the hold on him was unrelenting, he could only watch as the placid face of the angel twisted and darkened, eyes turning coal black and the demon taking over. He hadn't seen or heard any sign of Castiel since he had left his sword buried in Tahariel's chest. He had one comfort, as long as he kept the demon. . .angel. . .whatever occupied, it wasn't focused on Sam.

"We'll start slow. I don't want you to finish early," Steve said, walking slowly to where Dean stood.

"Trust me when I say that has never been an issue," Dean shot back. "But I must say, you're not my type." Dean couldn't resist peeking over the demon's shoulder to where Sam still lay on the floor, he had his arm flung out beside him, the tips of his fingers mere inches away from the chisel. The hammer still lay beside him, but the chisel seemed just out of reach. Dean wanted to watch, but he had to keep the demon from noticing. It took everything in him not to cry out an encouragement to Sam, but the only sound that came out of his mouth was a loud grunt as Steve's fist slammed into his stomach.

Soon Dean couldn't even concentrate on Sam anymore. His whole world had narrowed down to the breathy gasps coming from his mouth and the sound of solid fist hitting solid muscle and bone. He couldn't hear, he could barely see and still the fists kept flying. It stopped suddenly and Dean was left struggling for air, unable to double over and curl his arms around his stomach the way he longed to, simply forced to stand there as his breaths grew slower and his vision cleared.

When he came back to awareness of his surroundings, Tahariel was back and standing there, just watching him. "You have always been the strong one, the one your brother relied on, your father's perfect little soldier. Nothing fazes you, nothing frightens you. Things happen that would incapacitate any other man and you shake it off like water off a duck's back. Even now, I have beaten you nearly to unconsciousness and there is no crying, no screaming from Dean Winchester, just manly grunts and deep breaths. Tell me, Dean, doesn't it get too exhausting, pretending to be someone you're not?"

"Hey, what you see is what you get. Like it or not, pal, this is who I am," Dean struggled to speak through his swelling throat.

"Still with the lies," Tahariel taunted. "I know the truth, the brokenness inside, how sometimes you can hardly stand without shattering, terrified that your brother will leave you and become a monster, terrified you will go back to hell and Sam will be king, holding within him the poison of a fallen angel, not your brother any longer, just Lucifer's skin. I know everything. I know that if I killed Sam now, there would be part of you that is relieved, relieved that Sam will be redeemed, knowing that I saved him from damnation."

"NO! You're wrong. Sam is my brother. I am going to save him and he is going to live," Dean shouted.

"I wish you were right, but you aren't the one in control here, I am, and I say that Sam dies. If you're a good little boy, I'll let you join him."

There was a rough gasping and the sound of rocks falling from the edge of the platform. Cas struggled up over the edge and lay there gasping for just a second. Tahariel turned to look at him, raising his arm to obliterate the battered angel, but Castiel was too quick. His hand flung outward and for a crucial second, Dean was free from his invisible bonds.

"DEAN! NOW!" Cas yelled and Dean reached into the waistband of his pants for Sam's knife.

.~o()o~.

Sam breathed carefully through his nose. His outstretched fingers were bumping the blade of the chisel, if only it was an inch or two closer. Pain shot through his side at every movement. He could hardly breathe and the wound kept him from stretching as far as normal. He looked over at his brother, but knew there could be no help from that direction. Dean was held upright. Sam could see the strain on his face as he struggled. Their eyes met for a moment, barely even a glance but long enough to say so much.

"I'm sorry," from Sam.

"You can get through this," from Dean. "I've got your back. I'll save you."

"No," the denial and determination in Sam's eyes was clear. "This time, I'll save YOU."

Not a word was said out loud and, a fraction of a second later, Dean's eyes rolled into the back of his head as Steve hit him the first time.

Sam quit trying to protect his side and reached with his whole body. He was one millimetre closer to his goal, then two. He could feel warm blood running down his side and the coldness of unconsciousness began to steal over him. He bit his lip fiercely, not wanting to cry out and alert Steve to what he was doing. Not that it seemed Steve would have noticed. The demon's whole being was focused on beating the man that stood before him.

Sam inched his way closer to the chisel as he watched blood spill from Dean's lip. His fingers nearly managed to hook over the edge as Dean's cheekbone split, adding more to the steady stream that coated his face. Sam was pulling the chisel toward himself when he heard the crack of Dean's nose breaking.

"Hold on big brother," he wept silently as he finally managed to wrap his hand around the chisel and pick it up. His next impossible step was to sit up. He was dizzy from blood loss but time was not on his side. He shook uncontrollably as he used his elbows and abdominal muscles to pull himself upright. For a moment, he was unsure if he could even grasp the hammer and chisel, much less get himself out. Dean's strangled yelp spurred him on as Steve drove the flat of his hand straight into Dean's throat.

Sam began to hammer furiously, ignoring the gashes and bruises that were appearing on his legs from his recklessness. He had cleared his knees and half his calves before he nearly wept in frustration. He couldn't bend any farther forward and he couldn't pull free.

The sound of rocks clattering broke through his failing consciousness as Castiel crawled up over the edge. With an exhausted wave of the angel's hand, Sam's feet were free.

Sam barely noticed the angel shouting at Dean. "DEAN! NOW!" He was already moving, adrenaline overcoming the blood loss and the pain. The only thought left to pound in his brain was to save his brother. He scooped up Castiel's sword from where it had fallen and lunged toward the back of the angel, toward the back of the demon and the man that once was a hunter but had lost his way. With the absolute last of his strength, he thrust it into the back of his enemy, hoping against hope that this time, it would be different.

At that very moment, Dean's arms were freed. He reached back to where Sam's knife was tucked into his waistband, the knife Ruby had given them, the only thing they had that could kill a demon, besides the Colt. He pulled it free and in one smooth movement, shoved it into Steve's heart just as Sam's thrust pierced Tahariel's heart. There was a moment of complete silence. Sam and Dean hardly dared to breathe as the man between them, one eye pure blue and clear, the other black as coal, looked down to his chest where the knife was buried to its hilt and the tip of the angel blade shone like a silver beacon right beside it.

"I may have been wrong," he said breathlessly as light whited out its one blue eye, orange lightning shooting through his body, illuminating his skeleton from the inside. Sam and Dean closed their eyes as the light became brighter, now shining from the angel's mouth as the demon's body ignited in a blaze of sparks. There was a whoosh of heat and a light that left them seeing supernovas on their retinas even through their closed eyes. Then there was a clatter on metal on stone and all was darkness.

Sam and Dean opened their eyes. Castiel was suddenly standing next to them and there was light enough to see. Nothing was left of their enemy but a pile of ash and the two blades, scorched and blackened as if they had been held in a fire.

Sam reached across and wound his fingers into Dean's shirt, holding on for dear life as the world began to spin and he once again became aware of the blood still dripping from his side, his thigh and the other small nicks and gashes he had inflicted on himself.

Dean reached out at the same time, placing his suddenly heavy hand on Sam's shoulder, trying to reassure himself of his brother's presence. Sam's legs buckled beneath him and he began to fall. Dean didn't have the strength to hold him upright and they sank down to the stone, Sam's breathing growing fainter as his eyes slowly fluttered closed.

"Sammy! No, stay with me here." Dean yelled, lightly slapping his little brother's face. He looked up at Castiel in desperation. "Cas, hospital. . .NOW!"


	11. Chapter 11

Castiel walked over to where Sam and Dean crouched on the ground, limping at first, but straightening as he grew closer. Dean was past the ability to form words, but his eyes pleaded with the angel to hurry as Sam bled out in his arms.

Castiel knelt wearily and placed his hands on the boys foreheads and the nightmarish cave was gone, replaced by the hustle and bustle of a busy ER.

"We need a doctor! C'mon Sammy, hold on. Help is here." The shouted words were so close to what was screaming in Dean's heart that it took him a moment to realize the words hadn't come from him. Cas was still kneeling by them, shouting frantically for help and encouraging Sam to keep breathing, clasping Sam's hand in a firm grip as if to anchor him to life. Dean thought he must be hallucinating the pure emotion on the normally stoic angel's face. Were those tears in Castiel's eyes?

Dean could only pull in one laboured breath after another, clasping his brother to his chest, weeping til the paramedics came to take them away.

"Sam," a single word managed to force its way out of his abused throat as his brother was wheeled out of the room. The room tilted around him as he realized it was getting harder to breathe. The pain from his beating hit him all at once and Dean couldn't fight it anymore.

.~o()o~,

Dean came back to himself slowly. He was first aware of a feeling of warmth and a soothing, familiar voice speaking incomprehensible words to him. He let himself relax, feeling safe, then other things began to break through the haze. First there was the beeping noise, and a strange whoosh-click that sounded a little familiar. That revolting hospital smell tickled his nose and it was with horror that he realized he couldn't move his tongue, his mouth was propped open halfway by a tube that ran down his throat and his lungs expanded and contracted against his will. His eyes shot open in panic and he immediately reached for the tube to pull it out.

Large, smooth hands grasped his firmly and held them still. "Stop it, Dean, you'll hurt yourself." Dean finally recognized Castiel's voice and stopped fighting, although he could not feel entirely comfortable with the machine breathing for him.

An unfamiliar face hovered over him. Cool hands felt his throat and a light was shone inside his mouth. "The swelling has gone down enough for you to breathe unassisted. Lets get this out," a woman's voice spoke. "I need you to cough for me, Dean."

Dean complied and after a moment of unbearable pressure and the feeling he was going to puke, the tube was out and Dean was gasping for air. "Sammy. . .where's my brother?" were the first words out of his mouth.

"The man you were brought in with?" the doctor asked. At Dean's nod, she continued. "He is in recovery right now. He lost a lot of blood and is being treated for severe dehydration and exhaustion, but the wounds he suffered, while deep, didn't hit anything vital."

"He's going to be all right?" Dean asked.

"Yes, he's going to be fine. Physically anyway. We were worried about Sam's old wounds. There is extensive scarring on his forearms and much of it looks self-inflicted. Does your brother have a history of depression? Some of them look years old," the doctor put on a sugary sweet face of concern that made Dean want to puke.

"My brother is not depressed. He was held and tortured by psychos and he has been targeted before. I don't know why evil always fixates on my brother but I will not have you talking about him like this," Dean could feel his throat tightening again as it became harder to breathe again.

"Calm down, Dean, or I will have to sedate you. Your throat was swollen closed from a blow to your neck. I don't want to have to put you back on the ventilator. We will be keeping Sam on suicide watch once he wakes up and then we will give him a psyche evaluation to see where he stands." When Dean opened his mouth, she cut him off. "I will take your words into consideration before making any decisions about Sam."

"Sam hasn't woken up yet?" Dean asked.

"No, not yet, but we aren't worried at this time. Your brother has been through a lot. He nearly died. The physical shock has exhausted him. He is simply sleeping it off. As soon as we can, we will move Sam into your room so you can see him yourself," the doctor finished checking Dean over and left the room, leaving Dean alone with Cas. Dean, still worried could feel the tears begin pricking behind his eyes and he couldn't handle Castiel's look of worry and sympathy. He took a deep breath and looked up at Castiel, winking lasciviously.

"So, any hot nurses?"

"They keep the hospital at a moderate temperature, Dean. I don't see why any of the nurses should be particularly overheated. If you are concerned I can go look for a thermostat."

"Never mind, Cas." Dean sighed. "Sammy had better hurry up and get his butt in here."


	12. Chapter 12

The next time Dean woke up, Sam was in the other bed. His hands and chest were strapped down and his pale face was covered in livid bruises, but his breathing was deep and even. It broke Dean's heart to see his brother restrained, but it wasn't hurting him and it was better for the time being if the hospital wasn't asking too many questions about the reason for his condition. Ordinarily, Dean couldn't wait to rock the boat, but not when Sam was on the line.

Castiel was sprawled in the chair by Dean's bed, eyes closed and mouth wide open. Dean had never seen him look so human. His trench coat was lying crumpled on the floor beside him and his tie had completely disappeared. A light snoring came from his mouth.

Dean glanced around until he spied a small glass of half-melted ice chips on the bedside table. He had to stretch a little to reach it, wincing when some of his bruises made themselves known. Finally, he held the cup in his hand and, taking careful aim, he sloshed the water toward Castiel. Bulls-eye!

Castiel sat up quickly as the ice cold liquid hit him square in the crotch. He glanced around, disoriented for a while before he saw Dean, trying hard to keep in his laughter. "I was resting, Dean, was that really necessary?" Cas gave a huff of annoyance so similar to Sam's that Dean's mirth overflowed and he burst into wild howls of laughter.

"I thought angels didn't sleep," he gasped, clutching his ribs. They were on fire from the pain of movement, but it felt so good to just laugh. In the back of his mind, a practical voice was telling him that it really wasn't that funny, but he couldn't stop laughing anyway.

"They don't. My angel powers are still decreasing. I barely managed to get you two here. It's not funny, Dean." Castiel practically whined.

Dean halted his laughter for a second, then lost it again. He knew Castiel was saying something serious, that they were probably screwed without his help, but he could feel the stress and worry literally rolling off him with every moment. "You should have seen your face," he giggled.

"Shut it, m sleepin'," a gravelly voice came from the other bed, barely louder than a whisper.

Dean looked over, laughter forgotten in favour of relief. "Sammy, you're awake! You sound like Tom Waits with a cold."

"Not funny, Dean," Sam rasped. Dean winced at the sound.

"Dude, I think you shredded your vocal chords. Try not to talk."

Sam gathered up the energy for one scowl at Dean before his eyes closed on their own and he was asleep again. He hadn't even noticed the thick leather bands that held him immobile in the bed.

.~o()o~.

Sam's nose itched. The irritating tickle was enough to bring him up through multiple layers of consciousness into full awareness. He wanted to reach up and scratch it, but his hands weren't moving. It took him a few moments to realize that it wasn't weakness that kept him from moving, but thick leather bands across his wrists and chest.

He closed his eyes in despair when he realized it had all been a dream. Tahariel was cold, to fake a rescue, to give him hope, only to ruthlessly snatch it away.

A moan started deep in his chest, growing and building to a full out sob. It was too much. Dean wasn't here. Dean wasn't coming. He would be stuck here in this awful place until he was allowed to die.

Sam began to struggle, pulling hard against the bands that held him down. He heard voices calling his name and hands trying to hold him still, but he was beyond being consoled by false hope. He would fight until his enemy gave him what he wanted. A vicious pain tore into his side and a warm wetness began to trickle down.

"Damn it, Sam, stop it. It's me!"

"No!" Sam gasped. "Nother. . .trick." He continued to pull hard at his bonds despite his growing weakness.

"Idiot doctors," a familiar voice yelled from above him. "Cas, get his other arm." Soon his arms and chest were free and he was hoisted up to a warm chest and held by strong arms.

"Dean?" He finally gathered the strength to open his eyes. "Really. . .you?"

"In the devastatingly handsome flesh," Dean smiled down at his little brother.

"K," Sam closed his eyes and was instantly asleep again.

Dean continued to hold Sam until he noticed the red stain slowly growing on his side. "Oh crap." He pushed the call button a time or six before bunching up the hem of Sam's hospital gown and putting pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding.

A nurse rushed in. "Why isn't he restrained? The doctor said he would hurt himself if. . ."

"Shut up," Dean growled dangerously. "He popped his stitches because he woke up and thought he was still being held captive by the sadistic son of a bitch that did this to him. He fought because my brother does not give up. . .ever! He is not a suicide risk. He has been through hell. Do not think you know him or what he has gone through. By tying him up you are not saving him from himself, you are putting him back in the nightmare I rescued him from. Now you better get someone in here to look at his stitches before I do it myself."

"Yes sir," the girl's face went pale and dean half expected her to curtsy before she efficiently checked Sam's side, seeing that the bleeding had almost stopped and she only needed to redo one stitch. She placed a sterile pad of gauze over the wound and taped it down after stitching it, then nearly ran from the room.

"I don't think that was a very pleasant experience for her, Dean. I think you frightened her." Cas spoke matter-of-factly.

"That was the idea. Honestly, keeping Sam tied up after he had been taken and tortured. I let it slide while he was unaware but. . .did you see the look on his face? He thought he was back there." Dean raged.

"Your brother is strong. This will not break him," Cas almost managed a look of sympathy.

"How can you be sure? It would break me," Dean admitted quietly.

"Your brother has been fighting against his darkness all his life. Azazel put that evil in him when he was merely a baby. Did you think that wouldn't affect him? Just because the visions didn't begin til he was 22 doesn't mean the demon blood wasn't in him before then. Your mother was different, all her life, she had a light to her, strong and pure, and there was an angel that was always watching over her, protecting that light."

"Well, he did a great job of it," Dean muttered darkly.

Castiel ignored Dean and continued on. "The angel was not allowed by heaven to interfere on the night your mother died, but he could not bear the thought of that great light being lost, so he placed his hand on your brother's head and gave him a gift, his mother's light to combat the darkness that tainted him. Without that light, you would have been forced to kill your brother before his twenty-third birthday."

Dean swallowed and looked down at Sam, suddenly feeling weak. He went and sat back on his bed before allowing Castiel to continue.

"That angel was Tahariel." Dean looked up in surprise, but couldn't find the words to interrupt. "He was reprimanded greatly by Michael and the other archangels for his actions that night. He became obsessed with protecting the light and he couldn't bear to see it tainted. He slowly grew insane and this is what happened. He became obsessed with cleansing Sam and went farther than any other angel ever would to see it happen."

"No kidding,"

"The light in Sam now though has absolutely nothing to do with your mother. That light gave him a boost, but at some point, most likely early in his childhood, Sam decided which path he was going to follow. Tahariel underestimated him. Sam has been fighting this battle all his life. It only takes a candle to push back the darkness and Sam has put so much of himself into the light that it is far more than a candle now."

"But. . .his anger issues. . .the demon blood addiction. . .everything that happened with Ruby," Dean asked.

"I said Sam was still fighting the battle. The darkness is still there, but it is being beaten back daily. Lucifer isn't the only one who chose Sam. I spoke to Joshua. God chose Samuel to bear this burden. He has been training nearly since birth to fight this battle, but he is not allowed to know that just yet. Even his name, Samuel, it means God has heard. God sees what is going. He hears the cries of those in despair and he has answered, by allowing Sam to suffer. And when the final battle comes, Sam will fulfill the plan."

"Why him? Why us? Why not any other person in this whole fricking world?" Dean whispered brokenly.

"It always had to be you. This plan stretches far back beyond your mother's death, beyond what made her family hunters in the first place, back beyond even Samuel Colt, the man who made a special gun. Lucifer thinks he has won, but he doesn't know the score."

Dean felt like his head was exploding. There was too much to take in. He didn't know how to respond, so he just let his mouth take over. 'So. . .Sammy was touched by an angel?" He smirked and then dissolved into hysterical laughter, leaving Castiel shrugging and sighing in confusion.

"You can't tell Sam, not yet," Castiel cautioned.

Dean nodded before he felt a wave of exhaustion flood over him. He crawled back under the covers of his own bed and promptly fell asleep again.

.~o()o~.

Dean was released a day and a half later. Sam would wake up for a minute or two, long enough to smile at Dean in relief, before his eyes would close again and he would be fast asleep once more. Finally, three days after Dean had gotten out, Sam could speak without wincing and keep his eyes open for at least an hour or two.

"I'm sorry, Dean," were the first words out of his mouth when he was aware enough for conversation.

"Sorry for what?" Dean asked.

"For being so stupid as to get myself caught. For not getting out of it myself. For not being strong enough. Take your pick," Sam spoke bitterly.

"Hey, absolutely none of that is your fault. If anything, its my fault for not waking up soon enough, for letting you die in the first place, for not realizing you were missing."

"You don't have to lie to make me feel better. I know I screwed up. I'll leave if you want me to."

For Dean, the line between relief and anger is very thin. "What the hell, Sam?" he yelled at the top of his lungs. Sam could only stare at him and blink. "Is that all you can think about?. . .getting away from me?"

"What? . . .I. . ."

"Don't try to hide it. I saw what you wanted, what heaven was for you. You can't wait to get rid of me. You want to be happy and normal and forget you ever had a screwed up brother and an obsessed father. Well I am sick of it, Sam. You can't just throw me out with the trash. You're my brother, even if you can't see it."

"Dean! No. . ." Sam tried to speak. "What are you talking about? Heaven? What do you know about my heaven?"

"I was there, Sam. I saw your greatest hits. . .your favourite memories. The thanksgiving dinner with that girl, the dog, Bones, and the night you left for Stanford, the one I fondly remember as the night I saw Hell for the first time. I hoped you had changed, but I was wrong," Dean could hardly breathe, he was so furious.

"Dean, I honestly have no idea what you are talking about. When were we in heaven?" Sam had shrunk back as far into his pillows as he could.

"When we died. . . Just before you were taken. . .The hunters with guns coming to kill you for starting the Apocalypse. Any of this ringing a bell?"

Sam slowly shook his head. Dean felt his anger fade.

"We died, we were in Heaven and it was just a montage of our favourite memories, when we were happiest in life. In every single one of yours, you had run away and left me behind," Dean said softly. "Why would heaven be those memories for you if you didn't want me out of your life?"

"I don't know why those are the memories Heaven chose. Each one of those memories is happy, sure, but they were also tainted. The only thing that would make them complete would be to have you there."

Dean coughed sharply, trying to cover up emotion. "What should they have been? What memories would you have chosen?"

Sam was silent for a while. "Any one of the days spent travelling in the Impala with both of us in the backseat, you making up silly travel games as we went along, trying to keep me from getting bored, Dad singing off key from the front seat. The day we carved out initials under the floormats. And how about the weekend we were camping in the middle of nowhere and it rained the entire time. There was a hill right next to the tent and we wrapped ourselves in garbage bags and slid down it in the mud for hours. Of how about senior year, when you worked your butt off finding hunts in the same general area so I could do an entire year in the same school, standing up to Dad when he wanted us to move a week before graduation, then coming to my graduation and cheering so loud at the front that I turned bright red and nearly tripped and ran off the stage. Dean, all my best memories are of you. In every single one, I am proud to have you as my brother.

"And that is why I want to leave," Sam continued so quietly Dean had to strain to hear him. "I don't deserve it. All I ever do is hurt you and disappoint you. It would be easier for you if you could just let me walk out of your life. . .if you could forget me."

"Don't say that, Sam. If there is anything I have ever wanted in this world, it is to be your big brother. You are God's gift to me."

"I thought you didn't believe in God."

"I changed my mind."

"When?"

Dean looked Sam square in the eye. "When I found out He heard me, and that he answered."

.~o()o~.

Sam was released a week later. He was battered and he still saw the face of his tormentor when he closed his eyes, but he was not broken. If anything, it made him more determined to see this through, to make his pain worthwhile.

They had no plans, no directions, but they were sure the battle would find them. It was only a matter of time.

They sat in the Impala, the open road stretching out ahead of them. They had been silent for hours. Dean had fulfilled his chick-flick moment quota for the next ten years and Sam had way too much to think about.

"Dean," Sam's voice finally broke the silence. "Do you think we can win?"

"Look at this face. It screams awesome. How can this much awesome be defeated," Dean smirked.

"I'm serious, Dean," Sam huffed.

"So am I, Sammy-boy. So am I."

Silence reigned again for a while. Dean broke it this time. "I'll tell you one thing, by this time next week, I plan to kick some serious fallen angel ass."

THE END


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